


Deader Than You

by DemonicPiano



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Ghost France (Hetalia), Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, M/M, TW: Contemplation of Suicide, Vampire England (Hetalia), yeyeeaaaah boi fruk time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26600410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicPiano/pseuds/DemonicPiano
Summary: Undead, lonely, and generally casted out by society, Arthur Kirkland takes matters of love and life into his hands and uses a spell to summon his perfect match. Well, almost perfect.
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Kudos: 35





	Deader Than You

Being a vampire sucked. It sucked more than, well, vampires suck. Less in the regard of sneaking on people and trying for a bite, but more of _literally everything else_ that could possibly suck. What little things in life people took for granted daily—primping themselves in the mirror, showing off fine silver jewelry, being able to enjoy everything garlic bread had to offer—were lost on the undead. What would that make of the basic desires, to go into the sun and feel the warmth, to feel warm at all, thanks to a lack of pulse?

The townspeople assumed because a man's heart didn't beat, it meant his brain didn't work either. That would be a zombie, but what did they know? A nibble here, a shadow going out the window there, suddenly everybody is pointing at the pallor figure in the corner of the tavern and raising accusations...as well as torches and pitchforks. The only thing Arthur Kirkland had going for himself now was that he could flawlessly pull off high-collar cloaks. He was well-aware vampires were supposed to have lavish mansions, full of balls and warm bodies, but getting chased out of the town and being forced to foot it in the woods by himself didn't raise much opportunity to the lap of luxury. Not that he had a lot to start with, even before he 'died.'

It was fine. It was all fine, really! Everything was honky-dory alone in the middle of the forest late at night because Arthur didn't need anybody from the town. All of them were fools and cowards stuck in their day-to-day obscenities (though he was, too, for a time until his eyes were opened to the life beyond their realm) to appreciate his offer to take on the world, explore the unknown, rediscover the forgotten, to do...something better. Have something bigger. He had nothing but time now, after all.

So that's what he did. Until he got sick of meandering aimlessly and talking to himself and the glimpses of animals that scurried from him. He had nothing but time. All of eternity stretched before him, quiet, alone, and forever.

It didn't matter how long Arthur wandered, because he stopped in a forest like any other and proceeded to crumple to his knees in the dirt and let himself have a sob. Forever was a very long time, wasn't it? He couldn't do it. Well, maybe he could, but he didn't want to, and certainly not alone. Any attempt to mingle was met with a shudder and untrusting eyes of the glimpses of fangs poking through his lip. No one understood. They weren't like him. They didn't like those who were different, and it wasn't like he could simply go back to being the way he was. He could always make someone of this world like him, but who? Could he stomach being able to do that? Would he, after the way they treated him?

No. Vampires didn't suck. People did! Arthur wiped his tears away (because apparently, he could still cry), and rose from the dirt. His white trousers may have been stained now, but they were still holding up, and so would he. He didn't need any of those crude townsfolk that treated him lower than the dirt under his feet. He had the night, _magic_ at his fingertips! He could do so much more than wail and pity himself.

If Arthur couldn't bring himself to his match, he would simply bring his match to himself!

~.~

A simple summoning spell shall do the trick! All he needed was candles, a flat surface to draw the sigil, the light of the full moon, and the desire's blood. Ha! The path to true love was a cakewalk! Within just a few restless nights the time was upon Arthur to bring forth the second half of fury he would set upon the Earth that so mercilessly casted him into the shadows. His light, his warmth, the reason to open his eyes every night, it would be all his in a matter of moments. The cliffside he chose to perform the incantation was just outside the reaches of the forest, overlooking the gray sea. A lighthouse, abandoned and shroud in darkness, stubbornly stood against the waves pummeling its stand. Fitting for the vampire.

"Come to me!" Arthur called to the restless waves, "Come into my arms, and everything wrong with the world will mean nothing to the might of our love!"

Arthur yelped as a fierce wind from the ocean tore through the sigil, knocking away the candles and whipping his tailcoats from his legs. He threw his arms over his face from the droplets of spray, believing for a moment that the tides would heave over the precipice to take him into their depths forever as the natural order of the world would take him as a way to stop his interference. They hissed in warning before retreating from the rocky shore, leaving him to remain in this world for another night. Whatever the reason it may be, a soft light flickered against the darkness. He pulled his arms from his face, and gasped at the sight before him.

Oh. _Oh, goodness._ It was another man. Well, Arthur won't deny anything. How could he? The most beautiful creature he could ever lay his undead eyes on stood before him, all thanks to his profound magics.

"Who are you?! Where am..." A flutter of white fabric brushed against the night, wildly swinging the lantern in his hand as he glimpsed the cliffside. "Same place," he muttered to himself, "but nobody except us here." Back to Arthur again, he raised his light above his head in a curious manner, "Did you bring me here? Did you bring me to a time of silence?"

Silk-for-hair cascaded in golden waves along his face, and Arthur could run his fingers through their waters until the end of time. He looked well-maintained. Even that beard was trimmed to a point. High looks with Arthur's currently low-standards made the unbeating heart grow fonder already. After all, this was this destined match from magic, was he not?

Arthur drew a sharp breath as the man moved to take a step, but glided forward in a graceful bound instead. "Can you speak? Are you well?"

' _Yes,'_ Arthur barely mouthed.

"So you did," the other man wondered. Another glance around, and he let out a low hum when their gazes met once more, "What a peculiar thing, but I will certainly not complain."

 _After_ -afterlife, take Arthur now. No, wait, no, let him enjoy this a little more...

"Your eyes are the most beautiful things," Arthur breathed as words finally found him, "they're as deep and blue as the sea, and I could be lost in them forever."

His newfound company pulled closer, a soft smile gracing his lips. Everything about him was radiant and glowed. Quite literally. Very easy on the eyes. Oh, how perfect this man was already! If Arthur's heart still beat, it would be leaping to encourage the other to dance with it.

"And yours are the freshest grass on the warmest pasture—wait a minute, are you British?"

Sunshine, roses, lavender blues and soft bunnies fell from Arthur's hopes and dreams and crumpled to death on the cold stone as the man pulled back with disgust curling his face.

"Excuse me?" Arthur squawked. Correction. Almost everything about him was perfect. "Let me guess! You're _French!"_

"I am!" Frenchy-Face said, as if it weren't obvious and something Arthur was kind enough to ignore from the start. "How observant of you."

"Well, if you're going to be like that, you can take that nasty attitude and shove it up your arse!"

The Frenchman sputtered something angry and French, slapping his hand to his chest and shaking his head side-to-side, "My nasty attitude?! Take a look in a mirror!"

Arthur reeled in fury, "How dare you!"

"Yes, I dare! I dare because you English are such barbarians, whether you are a hoard or alone! You pulled me here to treat me this way, yes, you did! So I dare!"

"Barbarians?! Oh, please! You frogs always tried to act like you're better than us when all you're covering is the stench of your pisspots clinging to your clothes!"

"Ugh! _Umph!"_ The Frenchman took a sweep into the night sky, lantern held high and flaring to pour a beam of judgment onto Arthur's head, "I will stand for this no longer when you are obviously wrong! Good day, you foul thing!"

"Fine then!" Arthur shouted at him, "I was going to let the fact that you are French slide, but you can just forget it! If you're so unhappy, you can just leave!"

"I was going to!"

"Good!"

"Great!"

"Wonderful!"

"Indeed!"

A sweep of light, and the night was dark once more. Arthur panted in anger at the damp air, "Bloody fantastic, you...you..."

The bayside went quiet beside the constant flush of tides against stone.

Oh, no. No, no, _no!_ What had he done?! Arthur's breath caught in his throat. Worse now; he couldn't blame this on rude townspeople! He collapsed to his knees, candles and lines of blood on the stone blurring as the ocean splattered the rocks and tears stung his eyes. He summoned his life-mate, only to scream at him and call him disgusting and smelly. He didn't sniff the guy. He didn't even know if ghosts had a scent.

Well. Arthur was rather enamored at first, until that Frenchman acted like being born in the English countryside was a crime! Whatever crime it was, Arthur had no choice but to take part in it!

…

He suppose the same could go for the French.

Arthur hiccupped in pity for himself. Did he deserve it? Maybe so; maybe he should just stay a sad, lonely creature of the night, doomed to forever roam the reaches of the Earth in a fruitless quest. He let his temper get the best of him, as always, and it costed him most dearly. He let himself sob into his knees for a few more moments before sniffling and lifting his head to watch the endless blue-gray waters. He truly would live forever and alone now.

Unless...unless...

Arthur was unable to ameliorate the 'alone' part, which left 'forever.' If he could change that, he could end his suffering, the suffering he caused to himself, and the suffering he caused to others. Yes, that would be best, something relatively quick, painless, and most of all, quiet. If this was all that waited for him for the boundless years to come, why bother? Sunrise would be in a few hours. Light would break through the horizon with its brilliance and color. It would glitter and dance and sparkle against the ocean. Then it would be over. He wouldn't be alone anymore because he wouldn't be anymore. Yes, what a quaint little plan. A moment of beauty before the endless void. Arthur scrubbed the tears from his cheeks, sniffled, and stared into the bay to wait.

After a few moments—or was it hours?—he began to feel shaky, queasy under the thought of staying under the sunlight. Arthur gulped, finding it difficult to squash instinct when deeper than that, he did not really want to die. He just wanted to stop being lonely, and if he couldn't do that, well...

A disgusted, French-accented voice called again, "What are you doing, you fiend?"

Arthur picked up his head quickly enough to give a crick, "What's...you again!"

The man with the lantern rolled his eyes, coming from the slope between the cliffside and bay waters in a graceful glide. Arthur found himself unable to look away. He felt stupid and irritated, more so at himself, but that obnoxious French-attitude won't help matters, "Oh, yes, hello, long time no see. Despite it all, I must admit dealing with only one of you is preferable than that constant hoard trying to come into my waters."

"E-excuse me?"

A pair of boots softly landed in the gravel beside Arthur. The light shone upon his head once again, warm and soft. He lifted a hand to shield himself from the flame. Its wielder's face was much colder now, which was a more familiar feeling, "You say that, but I think I will not excuse you just yet. What are you doing? I would think you would have snuck off to terrorize somebody else by now. Why are you still here groveling?"

Arthur hissed between his teeth before pulling his glare to the ocean. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm waiting until the sun rises to turn me to ash."

"That is a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"Dramatic?! Of course not! Have you any idea what I've been through this entire time? I'm doomed to walk this Earth, watching everyone grow up and live their lives and have children while I remain unmoving and casted aside! I have plenty of reason to be dramatic."

The man only spared a side-eyed glance. "Do you see that lighthouse over there? It is mine. Or it was, when...it was."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I am the keeper. I maintained the bay for decades, until English ships came onto the horizon. I only had a handful of men and my fires to stave off the hoard until reinforcements would come." Arthur lifted his head again, gawking as the Frenchman murmured to the bay, "It was a valiant effort, but I knew I was doomed from the start. I do not know what struck me down. There was a lot of bodies and shouting...and blades."

Another hefty tide struck against the cliffside, spilling spray onto the precipice. Arthur would have shivered if it was cold.

"I found myself repeating that night, _every night_ ever since. Was it some kind of product of regret, horror, or my own personal hell? I do not know, but I do not hear the fighting anymore. I do not feel their swords cutting into my skin." The light shifted, and the Frenchman had turned his gaze down, staring in curiosity and confusion. "I was pulled away from it all, and now I am here with you."

Arthur did that. He pulled the ghost from his unending loop of reliving and death. And he called him stinky.

"You said the French smell like pisspots, yet you do not plug your nose and turn away," the ghost noted with a hint of a smile, as if he knew what Arthur thought, or the guilt on his face was simply that obvious. "You have a foul temper, but you also called me beautiful."

Arthur ducked his head into his lap, which made him feel more stupid. "What are you getting at, frog?"

"Why did you pull me here?"

"I didn't intend to summon you specifically. It just happened."

"So you were trying for somebody? Anybody?"

Arthur let out a grunt.

The ghost chuckled against the rush of tides. "So you have been neglected from your own, Englishman."

"Shut it, you toad."

So he did, surprisingly. Arthur risked a peek upwards, but it was a contented silence, one to observe the ocean instead of compliance. "The sky is getting lighter," the ghost noted as he stood unaffected by the breeze. "Are you going to stay here?"

"What else could I do? It's pointless otherwise."

"Why don't you come inside the lighthouse, and we can talk about how pointless it is?"

"Why would we... _oh._ " Arthur was sure if his heart still beat, his cheeks would be stained red by now. "You...you would want to do that?"

"It is not up to me. You said you were going to stay out here and turn to ash, so..." A flick of hair, a dashing twirl, and the ghost-man took from the ground to sail across the crag, "No reason for saying this, none at all, but that is where I will be!"

"H-hold on a moment!" Arthur scrambled to his feet. "You just can't say that and leave! What does all that mean? Get back here!"

Antagonizing, French laugher echoed across the scaly cliffside, leaving Arthur no choice but to give chase. Ocean spray soaked the stone path with a precarious slip, but he kept his hands down and eyes forward as his cloak furiously flapped behind his back. A weeded path led to the lighthouse, and with one last cluck, the ghost vanished through the brick. Damned spirits, but that was magic's match, and Arthur wouldn't let the drop to watery doom daunt him to flee. Light streamed across the horizon just as he heaved from the stones and landed before doors, out of view from the Sun's merciless scorn. He grinned in triumph, and raised a hand to twist the doorknob...

It was locked.

Arthur groaned in exasperation, slapping a palm to the debauched white walls. "Oi, you frog! It's all boarded up! I can't get inside!"

Well, he could always break the door down in a fit of vampirism, but it was a rather nice door. Plus wind and water and sunlight would get inside, and that's the last thing he needed or wanted.

A bearded face pooled through the aged wood, blinking at Arthur for a moment before a hand snuck through and snapped. The lock clicked. Arthur looked down in surprise, and the Frenchman shrugged with a little smile. "Looks like it's been unlocked."

"Oh, shocker," Arthur said, but as soon as the ghost ducked inside again, he clawed at the door and quickly closed it behind himself. Morning had come. He was still alive...as alive as he could ever be. His first breath within the confines of the lighthouse told him it was stagnant, dusty, and generally old, which was to be expected. He turned around, automatically catching the lantern illuminating a soft expression as the Frenchman poured over every banister and grain of the ceiling above and the floor below.

Their eyes met, and he immediately shifted to a haunted wail, "Oh, no, no! Look at all this! My poor lighthouse, fallen to such disarray. No soul comes through anymore, it's infested with cobwebs! What a horrible, _horrible_ thing." He spun around, lantern swinging and casting shadows on the walls as he began to wander around the furniture that had been tossed about from careless hands. "Not to mention my dear English visitors made themselves at home with everything dear of mine and made an attempt to destroy the rest."

Arthur numbly stood by the doors, unsure what to make of himself. He escaped the sunlight. He reached the lighthouse. His countrymen had slaughtered the keeper and now he was trapped in there with the ghost (that he had exchanged ungentlemanly words with). Needless to say, but he would say it anyway just to cause himself more pain, it was achingly awkward.

The ghost's voice came from the upper floor, "It is a long way until moonrise. Are you going to stand there all day?"

"O-of course not!" Arthur said, taking a few strides forward then stopping between the junction of an eating area and a gathering of what used to be love seats, now torn up and tipped. They really went overboard, didn't they? What did the couches ever do to them? Either way, he was now standing in a new spot, so that was something different. It was a bit too dark to work efficiently, but he could always look for something to burn. "Do you have any oil or wax?"

"Euh, look around in the kitchen somewhere! Maybe my kind visitors left some things behind!"

"French," Arthur muttered, slowly stepping toward the eating area as to not trip or kick anything that could be strewn across the floor. "Useless as always."

He found cabinets, opening the doors and patting for anything. Anything he tried to sniff smelled of dust and faint mold. A light shone into one of the drawers, and he noted, "Oh, good, that's convenient-" He whipped around, leaping at the Frenchman's proximity. "What are you doing, sneaking on me like that?!"

"You are very jumpy. Do you think someone is going to leap when your back is turned?"

"Someone already did. You."

"Someone more alive and capable, I mean." The ghost rolled his eyes, leaning forward to smack Arthur's arm, "It is not like I can...I just hit you."

"You just did." Though it was gentle, Arthur said, "Thanks."

"I'm dead. I am not supposed to be able to touch things."

"You have that lamp."

"I had it with me when I died. It is a ghost-lamp."

"What about floors? How do you walk?"

"I don't. I float."

Arthur reached out, expecting to stick his arm through the Frenchman's chest, but wound up patting clothes. He gasped and jerked away. "Oh, God, am I dead, too?"

"Perhaps not in the same sense, but you are a vampire, are you not? If your heart is no longer beating..."

"Oh. Here I thought I somehow fell asleep and the Sun rose and took me far from this world."

"That would make this your version of the afterlife. Interesting, we are both dead in some way." Arthur started when a hand touched his own. The Frenchman smiled gently against his light as he experimentally brought Arthur's hand to his lips. His hold was not hot or flushed with blood like the others. He could think without the temptation to go mad in someone's company for once. Well, not if the frog was going to do _that._ "Even if you are English, even if your tongue is as sharp as your fangs, I think I could find some way to forgive you..."

Arthur scoffed, trying to ignore how his mind filled with thoughts of ruffling his fingers through that hair to see if it felt as soft and silky as it looked now that he knew that he _could_ touch it. "You think?"

"It was your afterlife that put an end to mine, to me reliving and dying over and over again for all of eternity."

Really, despite being called nasty and stinky, this ghost would...

Well.

"You'll have to spend all of eternity here now instead. I suppose if that's the case...I could forgive you for being French?"

"My, my, how romantic. The Englishman finds it within himself to overlook my shortcomings. I might swoon."

"I have a name, you know."

The ghost gave their joined hands a squeeze. "Ah, yes, what is your name, if we are going to know one another for the rest of the afterlife?"

"Arthur." He may have given a squeeze in return. "Arthur Kirkland."

"So painfully English."

"Yours won't be any better."

"Francis Bonnefoy. Here and forever."

"Oh, a Frenchman named Francis. How predictable."

"Predictable, yes, but did you predict it?"

Arthur found himself smiling like a fool. "No, I did not."

"As I thought." Francis rose his lamp, basking the ruins of the lighthouse with his fire. "We have eternity now, Arthur. Shall we get started?"

"Of course. This place won't clean itself up, after all."


End file.
